


Embers

by VeannaBlue



Series: The Games We Play [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M, Foreplay, Kissing, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink, Slow Burn, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:52:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeannaBlue/pseuds/VeannaBlue
Summary: She was a bedevilled temptation, sent to taunt and test him. Tease him with his own weakness. At the Embassy he had the excuse of too much Colovian Brandy. There was no such justification when he was on duty. Even without the fog of alcohol clouding his judgement, he wanted her. And the Dragonborn was all too willing to give herself to him.





	1. Temptations

She was here again. He could hear her lilting voice as he made his impatient patrol through Understone Keep. The high tone was joined by a guard's rough Nordic slur and she giggled. Ondolemar sneered in the direction of the sound. How unbecoming of a so-called legend, to debase herself by flirting with a run of the mill guard. Besides, shouldn't she be saving the world or some such nonsense that the peasants gossiped about. 

Typical Breton, more concerned with rutting than holding on to whatever slither of dignity their small amount of Altmer lineage may have afforded them. How she could suffer the attentions of a common Nord after his own touch was a bafflement all of itself. Not that he cared, of course, she was beneath his notice and no regretful, drunken fumbling would change that. As Ondolemar and his soldiers neared the corridor to the Dwemer museum he caught sight of the woman in question, the Dragonborn. Her petite frame was only partially in view, hidden behind the hulking body of the Nord that was towering over her, leaning in close to whisper in her ear. Another giggle broke the silence and the blonde lightly placed her hand on his arm, smiling coyly up at him from underneath her thick lashes. She stretched on her toes to reply in hushed tones, her lips softly brushing the Nord's jaw. Ondolemar's green eyes flashed as he watched the pair. How incredibly improper. Behaving like animals, practically under the Jarl's noise. If the guard were under his command he would receive a flogging like he could never imagine, and the Dragonborn...

"Is everything alright Commander?"

The interrupting soldier shifted nervously as his superior turned his withering gaze on him. "Of course everything is alright you fool. Why wouldn't it be?"

"It's just well, you stopped so suddenly, Sir."

"And that gives you the right to question me does it?"

"No sir, I am sorry for my impertinence, Commander."

Ondolemar turned from him without a reply. With one last disapproving look at the Breton and her companion he resumed his march.

"Do you think he saw us?" Ysabeau asked, peeking from behind a well-muscled bicep.

The guard chuckled. "The Elf would have to be blind if he hadn't. That was quite a show you put on for him."

Ysabeau blushed. "I just hope it works. It is impossible to speak to him with those soldiers of his, they follow him around like Banning's dogs day and night. Not that he has paid me any attention since. He acts as if nothing happened."

"I don't know why you bother with him. Plenty of other men here in Markarth would love to get to know you better." He shifted his shield, casting a glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening. "And none of them are snobby Thalmor bastards trying to tame Skyrim's people."

"I don't want just any other man though Fareck, I want him. Ever since that night at the Embassy, he is all I can think about. When we kissed, I thought I was going to burn until there was nothing left of me but ashes, and I would thank him for it and beg for more." 

This produced a hearty laugh from the Nord. "You Bretons sure do like your drama, don't you? But I see there is no changing your mind. It's your game to play Beau, you just let me know if you get into any trouble, alright? Don't take it too lightly, they've earned their reputation after all."

"Thank you, darling, I promise to be careful. I better get going though, I still have some jobs to run for the Jarl. Give my love to Sabyn for me, and tell him thank you for letting me borrow his husband! I owe you both a drink."

"That you do, and you know he will want all the details if you get your Elf."

"Hopefully I will have a story to share over that mead." With a wink and a laugh, Ysabeau made her way out of the keep.

The next day Ondolemar saw her again. This time she was leaning over an enchanting table having an animated conversation with Calcelmo. Well, in truth, Calcelmo was the one having an animated conversation if the way his arms were flailing was anything to go by. He seemed to be trying to describe some artefact by measuring the imaginary object in the air with his hands, while words like ancient, Dwemer, and discovery tumbled from his mouth. 

Ysabeau listened, her chin resting on her hand and her eyelids half hooded as she nodded politely at random intervals. Her other hand absentmindedly traced the etchings on the table, lighting up the runes as her touch passed over them, casting a pale blue glow that lit up the shadows before fading away again. A small movement drew Ondolemar's attention to Calcemo's nephew, Aicantar, who was standing apart from the others. His wide eyes focused on the Breton in front of him with an expression that hung between a deer being hunted by a wolf and the wolf doing the hunting. 

The older mer followed his gaze and smirked. The Dragonborn was clad in tight leather that left little to the imagination. It was a pleasant change from the mage robes she usually wore that swamped her small frame. Aicantar may be stuck in here day in and day out helping his uncle with his eccentric experiments, but the boy had good taste. Ysabeau shifted her weight, the movement cocking one hip to the side and accentuating the curve of her leather-clad arse. Aicantar withdrew a short, sharp breath, the beginnings of a blush creeping up from under his robes. He looked like he was about to flee the room but Ondolemar cleared his throat to announce his presence and the young mer froze only just realising that he was standing there. 

Calcelmo and Ysabeau turned to him, the elder looking annoyed and the younger looking relieved that someone had interrupted the spiel she was a prisoner of. A bright smile lit up her face and Ondolemar narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously.

"Commander," Calcelmo said, straightening his robes. "Nice to see you as always, I was just recruiting Miss Charcel here to retrieve some artefacts for me. She has been a great asset to my research."

Ondolemar's gaze rested heavily on Ysabeau. "She does like to help doesn't she."

Ysabeau met his eyes, her own sparkling mischievously and replied, "What can I say, I like to make good use of my talents."

Their eye contact held for just a moment before Calcelmo continued, completely oblivious to the tension that hung in the air. "You must be here for the potions I was working on for you, am I right?"

"Yes," Ondolemar drawled, slowly tearing his eyes away and focusing on the wizard instead. "I trust there were no complications with what I asked for?"

"No, no, it was simple enough if you have the right knowledge and ingredients. Let me just go and get them for you, I left them in my office."

"Why don't you send your nephew instead?" Ondolemar said, gesturing to Aicantar who was still frozen in place. "He doesn't seem to have enough to do at the moment." All three turned to look at the boy whose face was now rose gold with embarrassment. 

"Aicantar? Oh, yes, I didn't realise you were here. Can you go and fetch the bottles for the Commander, they will be on my desk in a specially labelled box."

"Of course, Uncle. Right away." He gratefully fled the room without looking back.

"I best be going, Calcelmo." Ysabeau said, taking a couple of steps towards the entrance, "I have some preparations of my own to make before I leave tomorrow. If you think of anything else you need just let Aicantar know, he is coming by Vlindrel Hall this evening with a list of ingredients he needs replenishing."

Calcelmo flapped his hand dismissively in her direction, lost in a new rambling train of thought. "Of course, thank you for your assistance, good day." 

"Enjoy your potions, Commander," she purred to Ondolemar. And she was gone.


	2. Summoned

Later that night Ondolemar lay in his bed, trying to will himself to sleep. He had no idea what time it was, late enough that the halls were as still as death as the other occupants slept, somehow finding rest in their archaic pieces of furniture that passed for beds in this wretched city.  
Sleep had evaded him for what felt like hours. His lost time spent tossing and turning before giving up on getting comfortable and resigning on his current position of laying on his back, the sheets pooled around his waist, leaving his golden torso exposed to the chill that crept from the stone walls of the keep. 

He breathed deeply and focused on filling his mind with calming thoughts. Memories of the Summerset Isles slowly emerged. Like watercolours, the images spread and came together, mixing to create new scenes and faces. The proud, angular profile of an Elven woman formed in a swirl of gold and pearl, her blue eyes like shards of glass gazing down at him, an elegant figure draped in crimson silk. The woman was a goddess, a stunning example of what an Altmer should be: Poised, aloof and superior in every way. She reached out to him, her elegant hand an invitation to fulfil all of his desires and dreams as only a fellow Altmer could. But as their fingers touched the image began to shimmer and change. 

The woman's body filled out with soft curves and her skin faded from a brilliant gold to cream, the eyes softened and swirled until they resembled the petals of Deathbells sparkling with morning dew; dancing with mirth, simultaneously mocking and enticing him. Blonde hair, the colour of dawn's first light, cascaded around her shoulders in waves that fell to full breasts tipped with rosebud nipples. Full, pink lips whispered his name. 

Ondolemar felt his heart stop. He stared at the conjured image of Ysabeau his subconscious had thrust upon him, taken aback for a mere moment before pulling her to him and crushing his lips to her own in a searing kiss. 

Just like on that night her lips parted, allowing his tongue access and he let out a groan. As the hands of his imagination groped the bountiful curves, his real hand slowly trailed down beneath the twisted sheets to seize his hardening cock. Slowly, he began to stroke himself, keeping in time with the grinding and thrusting happening behind his closed eyes. He imagined the lips he was so passionately kissing in his fantasy wrapping around him, sucking him in deeper and deeper, fingers digging into his thighs as the Breton brought him closer and closer to his climax. He could just about hear her moaning with every thrust into her mouth, a soft echo of what could be. Oh, the sounds he would make her cry out. Not the muffled cries he had swallowed in the dark hall during the party, alone in his quarters, he would make her scream until her voice resounded through Understone Keep for all to hear. 

His stroking became more and more urgent, his breath coming out in ragged gasps and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his body. Suddenly his release was upon him, his seed spurting over his hand and abdomen. The images slowly dissipated, leaving his mind fogged and only partially satisfied. 

Staring at his self-made mess with a mixture of resignation and disgust Ondolemar grabbed a nearby cloth and cleaned himself up, rubbing at his sticky skin and flinging the offending fabric to the other side of the room. It had been many moons since he had had any desire to please himself, having no shortage of willing female soldiers that hoped to advance themselves by warming his bed, the need to tend to himself had rarely arisen. The deluded fools served their purpose until he grew bored of them, easily forgotten and easily replaced. But now, with the remnants of his lust still clouding his head, it was becoming abundantly clear that this Dragonborn was not going to be like the others. She was a bedevilled temptation, sent to taunt and test him. Tease him with his own weakness. At the Embassy he had the excuse of too much Colovian Brandy. There was no such justification when he was on duty. Even without the fog of alcohol clouding his judgement, he wanted her, and he would have her.

****

Eight days later, on the other side of Markarth, Ysabeau wearily heaved open the heavy door to Vlindrel Hall. She was tired, hungry and if she never saw a Falmer ever again she would be a happy woman. Still, all things considered, she had made good time on her quest for Calcelmo and had returned home two days sooner than she planned thanks to a lack of dragons and bandits on the road. 

"Argis! Are you home?" She called, dropping her knapsack to the floor with a thud, a second bag followed the first, clanging as the golden objects inside half spilt out as they hit the hard surface. Stepping over the scattered contents she made her way further inside and smiled when her eyes fell upon her Housecarl. Surrounded by the warm glow of the fireplace Argis snored soundly, his large frame reclined in one of the chairs, an open book on his lap and a half-empty flagon of mead at his side.  
Not wanting to disturb him she hovered over him only long enough to put aside the book and lay a blanket across his lap and outstretched legs, being careful to avoid any weapons that he may have hidden on his person.

Having seen to his comfort she quickly and quietly stripped off her dusty travelling clothes and replaced the fur and leather with a light blue linen dress. She grabbed a bottle of ale on her way past the kitchen and stepped out onto her balcony into the cool Skyrim air.  
For a moment she considered taking the retrieved artefacts to Calcelmo but a quick look at the rapidly darkening sky made her decide that it could wait until morning. Instead, she leant against the edge of the balcony railing and watched the stars one by one light up the night sky like diamonds settled on rich, midnight velvet. 

A contented sigh passed over her lips. Standing here, overlooking the stone city and it's surrounding mountains and countryside reminded her of why she stayed here. It was a rough and violent land, filled with stunning beauty and mysteries that, as a little girl in High Rock, she had only ever dreamed of. 

From her vantage point she could make out the campfire of a Khajiit caravan camping outside of the city walls, the faint sound of their laughter and music reached her ears, carried on the cool breeze that caressed her skin. The jovial sound brought a bittersweet smile to her face as it carried her back to the first night she had met her dearest friend, Kharjo. Back seven years to the night before her wedding when the Khajiit had found her outside of Riften, heartbroken and abandoned by the man she loved. His kindness, the likes of which she had never known, had helped her find her happiness again. His friends had become hers, strangers who welcomed her with open arms in her time of need and now meant more to her than her own blood. It never ceased to amaze her how much could change in a single night, how lives could be altered for the better by the selfish actions of one and the compassion of another. 

She was pulled from her reminiscing by the sound of footsteps making their way up the flight of stairs and she instantly became more alert. Keeping her overall appearance relaxed, Ysabeau turned to the visitors making their way towards her home, two Thalmor soldiers, their golden armour glistening in the moonlight. 

Setting down her drink she straightened and smoothed her skirt, secretly feeling for the hilt of the ebony dagger strapped to her upper thigh.  
One of the soldiers stepped forward and said in a clear, bored voice, "Ysabeau Charcel, we have orders to escort you to Understone Keep immediately."

Ysabeau looked between the two suspiciously, the one who spoke stood as still and expressionless as a gold statue, his companion, however, was openly roving his eyes over her, as if she were a horse needing to be assessed before purchase. 

Ignoring his interest she responded in a similarly monotonous tone, "I am assuming Ondolemar gave you these orders? Did he at least tell you what he wanted with me?"

The mer with the wandering eyes snickered, earning a reproachful look from the other. "Commander Ondolemar has given me my orders. You can comply peacefully or we will use force."

Ysabeau quirked her eyebrow, her lips turning up in a sly smile. "As much fun as that could be, I'm afraid I am wanted in Understone Keep. Best not keep the Commander waiting, shall we." 

Not impressed with her flippant tone towards his superior the Altmer levelled her with a withering look before turning to lead her back down the stairs. Ysabeau restrained herself from whispering a small 'Fus' that would send him sprawling down the stone steps.  
With one soldier in front of her and one behind, they proceeded their way towards Understone Keep in silence.

Ysabeau matched the Soldier's brisk pace as they made their way through the shadowy halls towards the Thalmor's quarters, each step increasing the thrill building inside her. Surely he wouldn't summon her at this time of night for business? Would he? An unwelcome thought slithered into her mind and sent a chill down her spine, momentarily smothering her excitement; 

What if he had found her Talos amulet and he had sent for her to be punished? Or worse yet, imprisoned? Of course, she was the Dragonborn and could protect herself but what an inconvenience to have all of the Thalmor against her. It was bad enough dealing with Ancano and his ridiculous vendetta against her, not to mention she could kiss goodbye any chance of sleeping with the Commander if he wanted to kill her.


	3. Butterscotch

"Wait here. I will alert the Commander to your presence."

The curt words broke Ysabeau's chaotic train of thought and she was surprised to find them already standing outside of Ondolemar's door. She took a deep breath and nodded her understanding, though the soldier was already knocking on the door.

Ondolemar's lofty tones sounded from within. "You may enter."

The soldier opened the door and took a step forward. "Ysabeau Charcel is here as you ordered, Commander. Shall I send her in?"

"No, I ordered you to bring her here so she could take your job of standing outside my door, you fool. Of course, send her in."

"Yes, Sir."

Peering through the open door Ysabeau could see Ondolemar sitting at his desk, a pile of papers and open books spread before him and a quill resting lazily in his hand.  
Nervous excitement swept through her body. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure it was going to hammer out of her chest if she failed to calm herself, but being calm was the furthermost thing from her mind. After what felt like an eternity since the party, of so many hours trying to gain his attention, of fantasising about this very moment, she was finally standing in the private quarters of the Justiciar Commander. 

The more cautious part of her mind whispered that she shouldn't be here, that the Thalmor were ruthless and dangerous, that this whole game of hers was a deadlier version of playing with fire. It wasn't too late, she could stop, turn around, run back to the safety of Whiterun and Jorrvaskr. But temptation and common sense were never good bedfellows. She stepped over the threshold.

"Leave us," He ordered. The soldier silently left, clicking the door closed behind him. The Dragonborn and the Commander were alone.

He rose and stalked towards her, eyeing her over much like his soldier had on her balcony, but with an intensity that set her skin aflame. Before she could breathe a word, he was in front of her, his arms either side of her head, effectively pinning her to the door with his own, much larger, body.

She gasped in surprise at the sudden intrusion of her personal space, unable to form words she merely stood there, the metal of the door cold and hard at her back and her chest brushing Ondolemar's robes with every breath.

"Do you have any idea what you have done to me?"

Hot breath kissed her ear and she shivered. "I..I don't know what you mean, Commander." She stammered, trying desperately to compose herself. She willed words to come to her, some witty response, but her mind had gone blank, her senses overwhelmed by the close proximity of the Elf before her. Sweet Dibella he smelt good, like aged fine wine, rich leather and an undercurrent of butterscotch. Would he taste of brandy the way had then? A shiver trickled down her spine. 

"Don't act the maiden with me," Ondolemar replied in a husky, low voice. "You know exactly what I mean. The games you have been playing, always being underfoot, flaunting yourself around the keep right under my nose."

The Altmer lowered his head to ghost his lips over the sensitive skin of her throat. "Did you think I wouldn't catch on...or," he added, looking back up at her with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, "was the party not enough for you and you wanted more?" 

Her next words came out as merely a breathless whisper, "I wanted more."

Without warning Ondolemar's lips met her own in a crushing kiss. His hands left the door and roughly seized her hips, lifting her off the ground and wrapping her legs around his waist. Ysabeau moaned, her lips parting willingly to grant his fervent tongue entrance as he kissed her passionately and possessively.

With her body pinned securely between his and the door, Ondolemar's hands roved over her body, sliding beneath her skirt to run his fingers over her bare thighs and to grope the curve of her arse. She moaned under his attentions, with her arms flung around his neck she writhed in his embrace, revelling in the feeling of his hard body pressed so firmly against hers.

Through the heavy fabric of his robes she felt his erection growing and her own arousal soared. She felt drunk on the sensory storm that surrounded her. The heat of his body, the softness of his full lips, the brush of his stubble on her sensitive skin, everything about him was intoxicating, pulling her in and creating a craving that she had never felt before.

Her small hands came up to push back his hood, forcing the shadows to retreat from his face and revealing long, fine hair as pale as moonstone. Clumsily, so as not to drop her, Ondolemar removed his gloves, carelessly dropping them to the floor before resuming his exploration of her body, the heightened sensation of his unobstructed touch eliciting a moan from her lips.

"You are the most infuriating creature I have ever met," he said silkily, abandoning her lips to kiss the creamy rise of her breasts.

Ysabeau giggled softly, her teeth seizing his ear in a gentle bite. "I tend to hear that alot...usually in more...dangerous situations."

Against her skin she could feel Ondolemar smile. "You enjoy the danger, though, don't you. The thrill, the tension, the uncertainty."

His hands roamed over her thighs and brushed against the hilt of her concealed dagger. Smoothly, with no outward sign, he freed it from it's sheath, gliding the ebony blade along her heated skin. She tried to shift away from the sharp edge but his grasp on her restricted her movement too much to allow any means of escape if he decided to use the blade on her. His enjoyment of her struggling didn't go unnoticed and she stilled, a prisoner of both the commander and her own desire. With precise dexterity he shifted the dagger in his grip and trailed it lazily along the outer corset of her bodice, cutting the laces that fastened it closed, one by one.

"If you didn't," he paused and met her eyes before cutting through the final lace, "you wouldn't be here with me right now." The corset fluttered to the floor, barely noticed by either of them.

Ysabeau tried to think of a witty response, some reply to prove him wrong or deny what he was saying but her mind failed her under the weight of his intense gaze.  
A look of triumph flashed across his handsome face, her silence seeming to satisfy some unasked question. This time when he kissed her it was tender and soft, he bowed his head brushing his lips lightly against hers, savouring her sweetness.

"You are exquisite," he breathed, his hot breath tickling her cheek and his pale blonde hair fanning over his face to mix with her own sun-kissed locks, forming a cascade around their faces.

Snaking his arms around her hips he turned around and carried her easily towards the fur-covered bed where he deposited her gently on the floor, ensuring she was steady on her feet before releasing his hold on her, leaving her devoid of his touch for only a moment, before gently caressing the side of her face. Instinctively she leant into his touch.  
Looking up at him from beneath her dark lashes she turned her head slightly to place soft kisses on his palm, turning it with her own much smaller hand to kiss along his fingers. He watched with a look of captivation as she opened her lips and took one of his slender fingers into her mouth, sucking from the base to the tip and releasing it with a swirl of her tongue.

She continued this on the others until a movement at his side had her eyes darting to his other hand where the blade of her dagger flickered in the soft candlelight. He followed her gaze and the shadow of a smile played at the corners of his mouth. Ysabeau held her breath, eyes intent on the blade as Ondolemar raised it to her chest and slowly ran the tip along the neckline of her dress. 

His voice was soft and low as he said, "You are far too beautiful to be wearing rags like these, you should be draped in silks and satin, materials worthy of your beauty." A flick of his wrist sliced through the seams and the left sleeve was slipping down her arm, baring her shoulder and nearly all of her breast.

"Satin and silks are lovely, but personally," she smiled coyly at him, "I prefer nothing at all."

To exaggerate her point she took hold of his hand that held the dagger and cut through the other sleeve. Without pause, she slid the dagger between her breasts and sliced the fabric of her bodice until the entire dress pooled at her feet in an azure puddle.

She now stood bare before him, relishing in the burn of his eyes as they drifted over her exposed body. "I hope I am to your satisfaction Commander?"

Ondolemar smiled, ignoring the twitch of his cock at her use of his title, and placed his hand on the curve of her hip, pulling her closer to him. She willingly obliged.  
"I am far from being disappointed, I assure you. Quite the opposite actually, you exceed my expectations." He quirked a haughtily arched eyebrow at her, and raised his free hand to cup her full breast, his thumb lazily circling her rosy tip.

"I was under the, apparently misguided, impression that all Bretons of High Rock were fine ladies bred to sit on hand embroidered cushions of their own making, sipping tea and indulging in inane gossip." The hand on her hip seized her more tightly, drawing her even closer and his mouth returned to the sensitive skin of her throat.

Ysabeau's answering laugh was light in between her panting breath. "Surely you don't believe everything you hear, sir? That may be the life for many Breton ladies, but I was never one for needlepoint and embroidery."

"Praise the Eight for that," He chuckled against her skin.


	4. Bared

Tentative fingers reached for the various buckles of his robes, one by one they succumbed to her, the supple leather easily sliding through the gold fastenings, falling open to reveal the fine, soft threads of his tunic beneath. Her hands glided over broad shoulders, pushing back the outer robes, not giving them a second thought as they fell to the floor. She bit down on her lower lip in concentration and snaked her hands gingerly beneath the fabric of his tunic, only partially aware that the lips that had been trailing wet patterns along her neck were now absent, their owner pausing to watch her administrations.

As she raised the tunic to remove it, he raised his arms in cooperation and took over when they realised, with a great deal of embarrassment on Ysabeau's part, that the stretch of his arms was much too high for her to reach. He rewarded her efforts with a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth.

The laces of his trousers were made short work of and his boots hurriedly kicked off until all that remained of his uniform was a black and gold pile scattered on the stones among the shredded remnants of her dress. 

Ysabeau had often wondered what surprises may lie beneath the Thalmor regalia. Many a meeting with the Jarl had been interrupted with this train of thought as the Altmer strode past, tempting her curiosity and desire. And now faced with the answer, she found that reality was far superior to her imagination. 

The candlelight danced across his naked body, shadows and light chasing each other across expanses of taut, lean muscle shrouded in golden skin. 

"And are you satisfied with what you see?" Although this was posed as a question, his tone made it clear that it was not. 

"I..." Before she could finish her sentence her eyes had drifted down to Ondolemar's half erect, rose gold cock and her mouth went drier than the deserts of Elsweyr, her words evaporating away like moisture on the unforgiving sands.

While she stared, trying to remind herself to breathe, a war erupted inside her body: a battle between anxiety addled butterflies and fiery arousal that threatened to burn her alive if the Elf didn't bend her over the nearest flat surface and take her then and there. The latter she understood perfectly, the former, was something new. 

The Dragonborn was the furthest thing she could think of from a shy, quaking virgin. If she carried business cards they would surely read Ysabeau Charcel - Dragonborn, Thane, Mage, Cock enthusiast. There was nary a town that didn't have at least one person living in it that she had enjoyed intimate relations with.  
But Ondolemar, standing before her in all of his golden, Thalmor, sexy bastard perfection was the first one to ever make her wonder...Will it fit?

Ondolemar cleared his throat and the stunned Breton was awoken from her inner turmoil, starting back to awareness her wide eyes shot up to the Altmer's face, where a self-satisfied smirk greeted her gaze.

"You know," Ondolemar said, his voice warm and honey smooth, "this may be the first time in our acquaintance that I have seen you speechless. I'm surprised to find I don't enjoy it as much as I expected."

Her answering blush was charming, the coy smile even more so and he felt his cock twitch again. Damn her.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to be rude, it's just.." Ysabeau bit her lower lip and looked away, unsure how to convey the reason for her silence without making herself sound like a fool.  
"You're umm, much more...impressive, than I expected." She finally blurted, her eyes drifting down again to find him more erect than before. "And I'm so..." She gestured vaguely to their height difference, the top of her head was lucky to touch his obnoxiously perfect chin. She groaned inwardly, 'good job, Beau,' so much for not sounding like a fool. 

Ondolemar laughed, not unkindly, and stepped closer to her, pressing a finger to her lips to hush her next words. "It isn't a well-known trait of my nature but I am capable of gentleness, Dragonborn." His thumb traced her plump lower lip, parting them gently and ducking his head to chastely kiss her. "I want you to enjoy this experience as much as myself, and to do that you need to know what you are truly in for. Now, on your knees."

The command was barely more than a whisper but the butterflies in Ysabeau's stomach suddenly lost the battle to her excitement, the spell of his voice smothering the nervous flutters and throwing kindling onto the flames of her desire. She eagerly dropped to her knees.

She took his length into her delicate hands, her fingers barely able to close around the thick girth. Experimentally she pumped him back and forth a couple of times, enjoying the weight and feel of his cock, then, with her eyes locked firmly on his face to watch his reaction, her lips closed around his length, sucking until the head of his cock was hitting the back of her throat. A hiss escaped Ondolemar's lips and she felt her own arousal increase.

Once her mouth had adjusted to him she began to move her head back and forth, agonisingly slowly, savouring the taste and feel of him. Her tongue slid along the underside of his rapidly growing erection and swirled around the head, swooping back down his length at random intervals to begin the movements again, over and over, all the while sucking and moaning around his thick shaft. 

Ondolemar groaned under her attentions, thoroughly enjoying the way she so enthusiastically took in his cock and tried to please him. An enthusiastic partner was always more enjoyable to him than one that wasn't, though he knew some of his fellow Justiciars would disagree, and to find one that was both as exuberant and complying as the Dragonborn was a rare find indeed. 

Without consciously deciding to, his hand came to rest on the back of her head, his fingers fisted in her blonde waves and his hips were thrusting in time with her mouth, urging her on to take him in deeper and faster. She happily obliged.

When the first drop of pre-cum hit her tongue she hummed in satisfaction, the vibrations sending delicious shivers up the Commander's spine. Feeling that his climax was close upon them she renewed her efforts, taking him into her mouth all the way to the base, his cock disappearing down her throat, sucking him with urgency, her mouth sliding back and forth in time with his thrusts.

The next shot of pre-cum drew a low growl mixed with a needy whine and that was the Commander's undoing. The grip in her hair tightened and with a growl of his own, the Commander exploded into her mouth. 

Only when he was completely finished and the last of his seed had slid down her throat did she pull away, and only so far as to allow her to gently suck and caress him with her tongue while he came down from his orgasm. Ondolemar watched her with carnal fascination. His breath was coming out in ragged pants, her continued attentions ensuring that the high wasn't going to end any time soon. 

Without allowing himself to catch his breath, he swiftly raised her from the floor and carried her the few short steps to the stone bed nearby. He laid her down on the furs and bedding, and stood back to take in her writhing form; pale gold hair splayed out on the pillow like a halo, finger tips digging into the snow bear pelt beneath her, her arousal glistening between her thighs. 

She reached out to him and he came to her, bending to kiss her deeply, savouring the taste of his cum that lingered on her tongue. He could already feel his cock hardening again. 

"What do you want Dragonborn?" He purred against her flushed lips. 

"Please, Commander," She begged, her voice heavy with lust. "I want you to touch me."


	5. Bound

Ysabeau's breath hitched in her throat as warm, gentle hands began to explore her body, leaving a trail of cold fire in their wake, over the rise and fall of her breasts, across her stomach, dipping down to her waist and sweeping back up her side to trail along her collar bone. He traced the scar left by Mercer's betrayal, and gave her an appraising look, but didn't question it further, choosing instead to dip his head and place a soft kiss on the sliver of silver skin. Beau shivered.

His lips followed a similar path to that his hands had taken, interchangably kissing and licking and nipping at her skin, drawing moans of pleasure from the writhing Breton. When this path crossed over back to her breasts his lips seized around one rose tipped nipple and sucked it into his mouth, his tongue twirling around the sensitive bud while his thumb worked the other to a stiff peak. 

Stealing a look up at her flushed expression he slowly slid his hand down from her breast, following the curve of her hip and over her quivering thigh until his fingers brushed against the soft curls at her centre. Ysabeau bucked against the touch, desperate for more contact, but Ondolemar distracted her with soothing sounds murmured against her breast until she stilled again, though her heart continued to race in her chest as fast as a hummingbird's wing. 

Painfully slowly, he slid one of his long fingers along her slit, parting the lips and delving between her warm, velvet folds. A mewling sound, that may have been his name, found his ears and he smirked with satisfaction. He inserted another finger, drawing the digits gently in and out, marvelling at how wet and welcome she was for him.  
Raising his eyes to her face again he found her watching him, her lips red from their previous kisses and her hooded eyes darkened with desire. Without breaking eye contact or giving any warning of his intentions, Ondolemar silently pooled magic to his sheathed fingers and, for the briefest moment, cast a small burst of sparks. The response was immediate.Her inner walls clenched around his fingers and her entire body convulsed, the soft sounds she had been making became a high pitched keen as the unexpected sensation coursed through her body.

"What- what are you doing!" She cried out, eyes wide in surprise. 

She tried to scramble away from him but only succeeded in entangling herself in the furs. His free hand gripped her tightly impeding her efforts and stilling her, though she continued to squirm under his control. 

Ondolemar sighed in mock frustration, a direct contradiction to the excitement she saw flash within his eyes. "If you won't behave, Dragonborn, then you leave me no choice but to restrain you."

He reached across to the bedside table, opened the drawer and began to rifle through, moving aside various bottles and papers until his fingers alighted on what he was looking for. Long strips of leather.

Ondolemar put out his hand for her wrists, when she didn't offer it freely he said, "Remember what I told you, Dragonborn? that I wanted you to enjoy this experience as much as myself? I was sincere in that statement. And besides, if I wanted to hurt you I could have done it when I had your dagger in my hand and you helplessly pinned against the door. Now, give me your wrists."

Feeling sheepish for the uncharacteristic vulnerability she felt around him, Ysabeau relinquished the control of her hands, watching with wary fascination as he expertly bound her wrists in the soft leather. 

"Not too tight?"

She tugged at the bindings experimentally. They were slightly uncomfortable and there was no way she would be able to slip her hands out, but they weren't restricting her blood flow, or causing her pain. She shook her head.

"Good." He eased her back and stretched her arms above her head, securing the leather straps to an iron hook that she only just now noticed in the bed head. Ysabeau tried not to think of how many other women had been in her position. 

Ondolemar smoothed some stray strands of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering to caress her. "Trust me."

Once again his hand trailed down her body, not leisurly exploring this time, but with determination and purpose. His eyes stayed firmly locked on her face, watching the changes to her expression as he touched her again. She was still wet for him, deliciously so and his cock flexed against her thigh. She whined in time with his groan.  
Ondolemar slowly and gently thrust one and then two fingers within her, waiting for her to relax before he cast the spell again, paying extra attention to the sensitive bundle of nerves of her clitoris with his thumb. She cried out and he cast it again.

Now that the initial surprise was over and she was confident that he wasn't trying to harm her, not in a threatening way at least, she forced her nerves to calm and gave herself over to his control. 

This time the spell had her grinding her hips against his hand, her increased arousal coated his fingers and filled the air with the heady scent of lust, mixing with the sharp zing that magic always left on the air. The overall effect was intoxicating.

She let out another cry, her back arching and her wrists pulling futilely at her restraints, the leather straining against her skin. The sparks coming from the Altmer's fingers were setting fire to nerves she never knew existed. The idea of magic play had never entered her mind and now, under the waves of pleasure that it was inducing, she abashed herself for never thinking of it before. 

His lips danced along her skin, keeping time with his dexterous fingers moving and sparking within her, slowly leading him further down her eager body. By the time he reached her pelvis and his chin was brushing against her soft curls, Ysabeau was a quivering mess of rapture. She exhaled a brief sigh of protest when his fingers withdrew, the loss of his touch leaving behind a yearning emptiness. 

He nuzzled at her entrance, breathing in the scent of her arousal. "Don't fret Dragonborn," he murmured softly, his tone dripping with amusement. "I promise I'm not neglecting you." The hot breath of his words ghosted over her sex, any further protests were choked back and lost in her answering moans. "You smell of the sweet tang of snowberries, I wonder if you taste of them as well?"

His mouth descended on her and her hips bucked up to meet him, her whole body quivering at the first achingly slow swipe of his tongue. "Just as sweet..." He licked her again. "And just as tart."

His tongue was so wet and hot, moving against her, within her, licking her, savouring her. The stubble of his chin grazed against her outer lips and the tops of her thighs as his mouth worked against her. The coarseness of the hair was rough against her hypersensitive flesh, a direct conflict to the softness of his lips and tongue, but the sensations, assaulting her in unison, came together to culminate in a heightened wave of euphoria that spread through her body like wild fire. She longed for freedom so she could touch him, twist her fingers in his silver hair, hold tightly...she thrashed but the leather held fast. 

His hands slid around her hips to grasp at the soft curves of her arse, holding her firmly in place. His fingers dug into her skin so tightly it was almost painful. Ysabeau was sure she would be left with bruises come morning but couldn't bring herself to care, the slight pain merely pushing her closer and closer to the edge of release. 

When he sucked her clitoris into his mouth a keening cry tore from Ysabeau's throat, echoing off the stone walls around them. Her body trembled and shook, her orgasm erupting in every fiber of her being. Ondolemar held her fast, continuing to suck on the bundle of nerves, alternating the action with thrusts of his tongue. The pair rode out her orgasm, Ondolemar holding her and Ysabeau thrashing in her restraints. The Altmer determined to ensure it's intensity to the last, and the Breton trying to focus on the simple art of breathing as stars burst behind her eyes and pleasure exploded and spread within her body.


	6. Satisfied

"Sweet Dibella," she breathed. "that was...incredible."

Her breast rapidly rose and fell, unintentionally keeping time with the dark lashes fluttering over her wide, glassy eyes. She shuddered at the gentle waves of pleasure that continued to drift through her, the afterglow of her orgasm unfurling like ripples on a lake, pure bliss lapping at the edges of her inner being. 

Ondolemar nuzzled at her inner thigh, kissing and nipping at the heated skin, a satisfied smirk playing across his lips. "The noises you make are delightful," he said huskily, glancing up at her face. She answered with a shy smile and his satisfaction grew. 

With the fluid grace of a Sabre cat he moved up her body, lean muscles taut and quivering with anticipation. Their eyes met, holding each others gaze steadily when he asked, "Are you ready for me Dragonborn?"

His cock touched her thigh, it's hard thickness hot enough to scorch her skin. An answering heat flowed through her body, although she thought she might not be able to take that length inside her, she knew she desperately wanted to. "Yes, Commander. Please"

He shifted, a slight adjustment of his body over hers that had the head of his cock poised at her entrance. Watching her closely he slid into her, agonisingly slowly, pausing with every inch to allow her to adjust. Her inner muscles stretched, embracing him, this welcome invasion of her body. She spread her legs to accomodate him, breathing through the slight burn of discomfort that she knew would come with his immense size, grateful for his earlier attentions, for the arousal he had caused to pool within her that now coated his cock, easing his passage. 

At just over halfway sheathed he was already the largest she had ever been with, a fact that was both thrilling and daunting and one that her body made clear. Sensing her tension Ondolemar's lips found her own, kissing her tenderly. His kisses ghosted along her jaw, abandoning her mouth to whisper sweet, lyrical Altmeri into her ear. The lilting tones were like a caress all of their own, carried on his breath to touch the most intimate parts of her very soul, soothing and magical, foreign and exotic. She had no idea what he was saying but that was of little importance, his words were the most erotic sound she had ever heard. 

Mesmerized by the spell of his voice she didn't flinch when he lunged forward, finally burying the last of his cock within her heated depths and filling her beyond imagination. A soundless cry broke free, a silent prayer of ecstasy as the burning slowly melted away to be replaced by delicious, all encompassing pleasure.  
Ondolemar stilled, a shuddering growl rising low in his throat. Squeezing his eyes shut his head fell to the crook of her shoulder and neck, the feeling of her tightness engulfing him momentarily overwhelming his senses. 

He took a deep steadying breath and exhaled it. In control he raised his head, searching her face for signs of apprehension or pain, but all he saw was unbridled lust and desire. Something dark moved behind his eyes, a reflection of what he saw in her own. Need. Want. Hunger.

He began to move, all pretense of restraint gone. What was once gentle and tentative was now wild and fervant. Each of them greedy for what the other had to give.  
Again and again he pounded into her while his fingers dug into her skin and her legs wrapped around his waist, encircling him, holding him close, devouring the small allowance of control he allowed her. She bucked and moaned beneath him, thrashing at the end of her bindings, uselessy pulling at the unrelenting knots. wishing she had claws to tear herself free. She longed to run her hands along the hard muscles of his back, twist his silver hair between her fingers, graze her nails along that perfect golden skin.  
Without missing a beat Ondolemar moved his weight from leaning over her, to resting up on his knees, his hand eased down the subtle curve of her rib cage, fingers splayed over her hip and he pulled her up to meet him. The new angle allowing him an unhindered view of her weeping sex and he leaned back slightly, watching himself slide into and out of her, his iron-hard cock gleaming with her juices. 

He thrust back inside of her, pivoting his hips to drive himself deeper, to reach all the sensitive areas he knew resided within. She cried out, a high pitched moan that echoed off the stone walls, as he found a particularly sweet spot and he increased the speed of his thrusts, fucking her relentlessly.

"Ohmygodspleasedon'tstop!" She screamed.

He felt her start to lose control but did not let up his feverish pace. His ears were filled with the roaring of his blood. Dimly he heard her screaming his name...no, not his name. His title. A formality they both subconsciously clung to in this most intimate of situations, like armour. Ensuring that even now, as he assaulted her body with his own, they both knew their place. An unspoken rule of whatever game it was they were playing here in the growing darkness of his quarters.

"COMMANDER!" 

She exploded beneath him, her body arching upwards like a strung bow, her arms straining painfully against the leather straps.  
The velvety walls of her pussy spasmed around him, seizing his throbbing cock in searing hot waves, and he came undone. His cock jerked deep inside her and he exploded, his body shaking with ecstasy. A hoarse, low shout tore from his throat, mixing with the screams of her orgasm in a confused tangle of half-formed syllables and inarticulate cries.  
With a final shudder he collapsed on top of her, a panting mess of entangled limbs and spent bodies. Their ragged breathing and the hammering beat of their hearts against each others chests were the only sounds in the quiet that surrounded them, a stillness that settled over them like a heavy cloak after the cacophony of passion that had so recently echoed off the stone walls. 

She cradled his body over hers, his lean hips between her thighs, the scent of his skin overwhelming, intermingling with the musky scent of sex hanging in the still air. The plush furs tickled her sweat slicked skin, and the once roaring fire had burnt down, coals glowing red hot, feeding life to an ever dwindling flame.

Ysabeau was the first to break the silence, her voice the breathy purr of exhausted satisfaction. "You are amazing." A teasing smile played at the corners of her flushed and swollen lips. "If I weren't worried about your ego expanding and corrupting the whole keep, I would be worshiping you for your talents, Commander." 

"Don't forget who you are speaking to Breton," Ondolemar replied smoothly, his eyes still closed in feigned sleep. "I may enjoy hearing your cries, but I don't feel the same about your insolent comments." The tender kiss he placed on the curve of her shoulder took the sting out of his words, leaving them feeling like a soft chastisement rather than a threat.

Beau wriggled against him, shimmying her hips and tentatively tugging at her arms. "Uh, do you think you could untie me, please?"

The Altmer took in her predicament with sated green eyes, his full expressive lips curved upwards into a darkly amused smile. "And if I refuse?"

Her brow furrowed in mock indignation, her own mouth forming a pout. "You can't refuse."

"And why is that?"

He was enjoying this way too much. "Because my arms are starting to cramp, and crampy arms aren't much good for, well, anything." Her expression turned sly. "Especially not if I would like to use my hands for a very large, very sensitive, task...with my mouth, and my tongue, and..." 

She was untied before she could finish her sentence, the Commander's hands replacing the leather around her wrists, glowing gold to combat the pins and needles that prickled under her skin with her returning blood flow.

Now," Ondolemar smirked, rolling to his back beside her. "You were saying?"


	7. Superior

She was gone. The only trace that she had been there at all was the lingering scent of flowers and lust, the ruffled bed and the leather straps discarded on the floor. The Dragonborn had slipped from his bed and covered her naked curves with the torn remnants of her dress , bunching the skirt around her bust and leaving the hem swaying just below her upper thigh. It had looked ridiculous but even so, Ondolemar couldn't help the lingering look he settled on her shapely legs.

He had graciously offered her an escort back to Vlindrel Hall, one of his personal guards who had passively stood outside of the door, ignoring the goings on within with the professional air of one trained to turn a blind eye to the indiscretions of their superiors. She had looked up at him with a coy smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eye and told him to keep his escort, that an armed Thalmor agent would just be an added danger on the streets and she was quite capable of finding her way home without assistance. While his face careened between prideful fury and wry beguilement at her arrogance she had stretched up on her toes and placed a feather-light kiss on his cheek, whispering a farewell against his skin before spinning on her heel and swanning off into the dark halls of the keep.

He had hoped that this tryst would be enough to get the enigmatic Breton out of his system, stop her haunting his thoughts and invading his imagination, but sitting alone In the afterglow of their rendevous it became undeniably apparent that his daydreamed fantasies had been mere shadows of reality. He wanted more.  
Regaining his earlier seat at his desk Ondolemar poured himself a goblet of wine, imported of course. He didn't dare risk ruining his palate by ingesting the swill that the locals passed off as an acceptable alcoholic beverage. The blood red liquid sloshed about in the empty vessel, releasing the complex bouquet into the air where he could savour it's impeccable scent. The scents of home. 

Tilting the goblet in a rolling motion, he pondered the swirling liquid inside, a whirlpool contained in the confines of his delicate grasp, completely under his control. An idea blossomed in his mind, one that may just serve both of his main interests; himself and the Dominion.  
Setting down the wine he reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. Gingerly he dipped the tip of a quill into the waiting pot of ink and began to write:

Dear Madame Ambassador,

I am writing in regard to the ongoing interest the Dominion has in the Breton known as Ysabeau Charcel aka The Dragonborn.  
I have taken the liberty of gathering knowledge on the comings and goings of the Jarl's court from the confines of my post and some new information has come to my attention that pertain to the so called "powers" that this human possesses. Powers that go beyond simply shouting dragons out of the sky and that would make her a valuable asset beyond compare.

I propose therefore, that an agent of our ranks be assigned to observing the individual under the guise of an escort, or a "follower" if you will forgive my use of the local term. A role that would dedicate itself to ensuring her loyalty to the Aldmeri Dominion and intercept should she show the slightest allegience to the Stormcloak rebels.

At your discretion I would make myself available at the Thalmor Embassy to discuss this matter further.

Your loyal servant, 

Commander Ondolemar

****

The first light of sunrise was just beginning to peek over the mountain tops when Ysabeau silently padded onto the balcony of Vlindrel Hall, the remains of her dress haphazardly wrapped around her and her boots held together in her hand. The calls of early morning songbirds heralded a new day as dawn's first rays tinted the sky pink and began the job of softly waking up the land. 

Soon the city would be alive with merchants spruiking their wares and shoppers hoping to get the best price, miners going to work underground, and friends meeting to gossip about the lives of their neighbours: who drank too much at the Silver-Blood Inn, who paid too much for a pheasant at Hogni Red-Arm's meat stall, whose spouse was caught canoodling with whose. The number of guards she had managed to slip by unnoticed would increase, some would look at her with suspicion, some with open admiration and still others with a nod of understanding or friendly familiarity. So would go a typical day in Markarth. 

For now, the morning behind the city walls was hers and she had managed to sneak from Understone Keep to her house unnoticed with ease. It wasn't a secret that she enjoyed male company but she still had a reputation to uphold and being seen in such a state of undress leaving the Thalmor quarters would have been a difficult one to explain. 

The previous few hours spent in the Justiciar's company came rushing into her mind, bringing a smile to her face that if anyone were around to see could only be described as giddy. She hadn't gone to his quarters with any set expectations in mind, just the hope that he may finally pay her attention and allow her the chance to even slightly indulge the craving that she had had for him ever since their night at the Embassy. What had transpired eclipsed her wildest fantasies, leaving the lingering bliss in her body an undoubted testament that the Commander truly was as superior as he claimed.


End file.
